The Ghost Writer
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Dragons live a long a time. Long enough to see the world change around them. Long enough to feel the weight of years. Long enough to see everyone they love turn to dust. Dragons live a long time...


**The Ghost Writer**

Dragons live a long time.

Spike knows it. All dragons know it. The world knows it. He's nearing his 100th year, and by dragon standards, he's of average age (less than average if one accounts for their ability to hibernate) and still below average height. It's why he's still able to find a place in Canterlot Library and not have to bend over (well, too much) to fit through any of the doors. It's why he can remember a time when a dragon being alone in this library, heck, anywhere in Canterlot, would have turned a few heads. Not like now, he notices, as he looks up from his parchment and quill. Earth ponies, pegasai, and unicorns fill the halls as they've always done, but Canterlot has changed. Yaks. Griffons. Hippogriffs. Changelings. And yes, even dragons, though they're still very much in the minority – reading isn't a thing that dragons "do," or at least that's what they say. Canterlot has kept its name, but the days have long passed when it could be accused of being a "unicorns only club." In a sense, surrounded by so many people from so many lands, who've flocked here from all corners of the world, he's never felt less alone.

In another, far more practical sense, he's never felt more alone. It's why he's come to this library day after day. And it's why he' just staring at a blank parchment after all of those days. He'll start to write, but inevitably the parchments will end up in the waste paper bin, and someone will accuse him of killing trees. Or heck, burning them. After all, he is a dragon.

Dragons live a long time. But even he doesn't have forever, so after two wasted hours, he heads out of the library, slings a satchel over his shoulder, and takes to the air. He needs to clear his head. He needs to see the present so that he can better write about the past.

* * *

From the air, he can see how Canterlot has changed – even better than he could on the ground. Its buildings have gone beyond the walls (most people say that there's no need for walls at all these days). The skies themselves are crowded as well, given how many creatures live here, and how many of them share the gift of flight. But right now, he isn't interested at Canterlot. If he needs inspiration, he has to head home, or at least, the place that _was_ his home. These days, he's not sure what home even is, but he has at least another few centuries to find out. Dragons live a long time after all.

Ponyville hasn't changed that much, he reflects. Canterlot, Las Pegasus, Fillydelphia – these are cities that have changed with the times. Ponyville however, has stubbornly held on. Earth ponies still form the bulk of the inhabitants, and if it's an earth pony town, that means it's governed by earth pony rules. No magic to change the seasons. An emphasis on self-sufficiency rather than importing stuff from other lands. Equestria hasn't just become more integrated within its own borders, it's become more integrated with the world, period. How anypony (or heck, any_one _– everyone's always saying that term is more inclusive) feels about that is up to them, but whatever the case, Ponyville's remained stuck in the past. In fact, flying above it now, Spike finds that if he squints, he can see it just as he saw it for the first time, all those years ago. Back before he could fly. When he and Twilight first descended from the air in a balloon, with no intention of staying here any longer than necessary. Funny how things turned out in the end. For both of them.

And also fitting that he come here, he reflects. This little project he's working on…it began here. A year after he and Twilight arrived in this town. The project's expanded since then, of course…kind of like what used to be Sweet Apple Acres. Not that it's even called that anymore, but regardless, Spike flies over. He needs some inspiration. Though hovering above the fields now, he finds it's hard to get.

Sweet Apple Acres doesn't exist anymore. In its place stands Orange Orange Orchards, as owned by Flim Industries, after it bought out Flam Incorporated. People don't want apples anymore in this day and age, but they do want oranges. How Applejack would have felt about that, Spike doesn't know, but she didn't live long enough to see it. Her sister was the one who signed the land over. Apple Bloom remained a cutie mark crusader until the end of her life, and even if she'd given up her duties, there was no way she could run an apple orchard by herself. Spike doesn't know how Apple Bloom felt about the whole thing, of watching her sister succumb to the same blight that had taken her parents, but he knows that there's a small apple grove nearby where the Apples are all buried together. A little reminder of what Orange Orange Orchards used to be…and what it'll never be again. Even as he and his friends tried to comfort Apple Bloom at the funeral, he knew that she already knew the truth. The world was changing. They had to change with it.

He doesn't want to visit that place today though. He's visited too many such memorials. Dragons live a long time, after all, and death is a constant of the world. But he's starting to realize that coming here was a mistake. Apples aren't oranges, and besides, was fruit really going to get his creative juices flowing? Granted, they're selling Flim patented orange juice at the entrance (as squeezed by the Super Speedy Orange Squeezy 9000), so maybe he could get some of that. Or, maybe he should head over to the clubhouse nearby.

He goes with that, flying over, not noticing the pink pegasus pony on the ground looking up at him.

* * *

Looking at the old Cutie Mark Crusader clubhouse gives Spike both great joy and great sorrow. Joy, because the way it stands in the sun, its paint crisp and its foundations sturdy, is a reminder that even towards the end of her life, Apple Bloom was a top notch carpenter. Sorrow, because by extension of the fact that it's still standing, it means that it has no shortage of tourists. And tourists, Spike doesn't mind too much. What's harder to swallow is the merchandize.

CMC t-shirts. CMC figurines. CMC soundtracks, including rare recordings of their talent show in Ponyville just after they'd formed the original group. Yes, that _is_ Scootaloo signing, why do you ask? Merchandizing, merchandizing, merchandizing. The people keep coming, the bits keep flowing, and Spike sits down on a tree. He gets a quill and parchment out of his satchel and yearns for some inspiration.

"Scootaloo Super Scooters!"

"Sweetie Belle figurines, batteries not included!"

"Apple Bloom-branded Buzz Apples!"

Spike winces. He isn't here to write about the Cutie Mark Crusaders. Besides, they still exist as a multi-species, multi-national organization that help fillies get their cutie marks. He met them once at a charity event in Trottingham, and they seemed on the level. They at least had the acknowledgement that even if their cutie marks were different, they could continue their predecessors' work. But here, outside what used to be the clubhouse, the flashes of cameras glaring in his eyes even more than the sun…

_This was a mistake._

He's not going to get any inspiration here. Or peace. Or quiet. Or-

"Heyya!"

"Gah!"

…or privacy. Because a pink pegasus pony with a blue mane and equally blue eyes has flown up to him.

"Whatya doin'?"

He glares at her. She's young. Not as young as the Cutie Mark Crusaders were when they got their cutie marks, but not as old as Twilight was when they first arrived in Ponyville either. She's in her middle years, and therefore, well into the brat stage.

"Well? Whatya doin'? Huh? Huh?"

Or at least the 'world revolves around me' stage. Regardless, Spike puts the quill and parchment in his satchel and grunts, "nothing."

"Nothing? Doesn't look like nothing. Looks like something."

"Kid, much as I appreciate you using proper grammar, trust me, it's nothing."

"Grandma? Don't have a grandma."

"Grammar!" Spike yells.

The pegasus giggles and pats Spike on the shoulder – a motion that he doesn't like in the slightest. So he swats the pony's hoof off it and glares at her, watching her eyes fall and her smile fade.

"Sorry," she murmurs.

He can tell she's sincere, but he doesn't really care. He's not here for the living, he's here for the dead. Certainly not for ponies who don't take a hint that some dragons want to be left alone.

"Saw you over Orange Orange Orchards," the pony says.

Spike grunts.

"I mean, I never got why they called it that. I mean, oranges grow there, sure, but-"

"It's the colour. Orange oranges."

"Silly, I know oranges are orange in colour. But why would…oh."

Spike's lips curl into a sneer. "Just figured that out now, have ya?"

"Um…" The pony looks sheepish. And Spike knows. He's met plenty of sheep over the years, some of which have even been more annoying than this pegasus.

"Anyway," she says. "CMC, eh? You got a favourite?"

Spike can't help but glare at her – as someone who knew the CMC in life, there's something morbid about having to choose a favourite.

"Mine's Scootaloo. I just love Scootaloo. Like, I know she was the first to leave the group, but-"

"Kid, I don't need a history lesson," Spike snaps.

"What do ya need?" The pony asks, again getting far too close for his liking. "Whatya whatya whatya whatya-"

"Leave me alone Pinkie!"

The pony falls silent, but Spike suspects that it isn't because of his exclamation. Rather, the word he ended it with.

"Pinkie?" she asks. "You mean…that, Pinkie?"

Spike winces. His suspicions have been proven correct.

That's why he shoots off into the sky, leaving the pegasus pony behind in his wake. Dragons live a long time, but that doesn't mean he has to waste it on people like _that_.

* * *

Sugar Cube Corner is gone. He's now sitting inside Sundae Sarsaparilla, even though it's a Saturday. He's drinking a jumbo sized strawberry milkshake, because as hard as his scales got, as wide as his wings became, he's never lost his sweet tooth. It's occurred to him that he might just be addicted to sugar – spend enough time with Pinkie Pie, that can happen to a person.

But it doesn't do him any good. The milkshake doesn't solve his sweet tooth problem, and he can't stop thinking about the place that used to be here. Mr and Mrs Cake are long dead, and Pound and Carrot Cake ended up working in the Crystal Empire's tourist industry, before time took their lives as well. Pinkie took over Sugar Cube Corner, and for the years that she ran it, the cakes had never tasted sweeter. Only then, Applejack died, and in a way, so did Pinkie. It wasn't as if they'd lost people before now, but Spike could see it. That hint of realization in Pinkie's eyes that the world had just become real, and that she could no longer hide from it.

She stopped laughing. She stopped talking. She stopped playing the yovidaphone, and eventually, she stopped working entirely. One day, she just up and left and returned to her family's rock farm, where she spent her last few weeks in the world, before returning beneath the rocks above which she'd been born. Spike was there at the funeral, as were the others. From what Maud had told him, Pinkie had spent her last hours looking up at the sky, as if waiting for a rainbow to appear again. Waiting for anything to make her smile, or to restore her mane, or the light in her eyes.

He takes a sip of the milkshake and taps his quill against the parchment. Visiting Orange Orange Orchards didn't help, nor did the old CMC clubhouse. And this milkshake has failed to charge his creative juices, or heck, even give him a proper sugar rush.

_Come on, _Spike thinks. He taps his head with the quill. _Think._

The parchment just lies there. Mocking him.

_Think!_

"Um, mister dragon? You're getting ink on your head."

_Oh come on! _Spike looks around, seeing that same pink pony from Orange Orange Orchards.

"I mean, it's not really any of my business but-"

"No," Spike snaps. "It isn't."

He can tell that he's hurt her feelings, and behind the vanilla frosting that's coated her lips from the donut she's started eating, her lips are quivering. Right now though, he really doesn't care. He has to get this done. Somehow. He's been trying for months, but he just can't put quill to page for any length of time before hitting a rut. Dragons live a long time, but he doesn't have forever.

"Listen," says the pony. "I wanted to apologize if I was bothering you before. I-"

"Apology accepted," Spike grunts. He dips his quill in some ink and lets it hover above the parchment. To his dismay, the pony fails to take the hint and takes a seat opposite him.

"It's funny," she says. "When you mentioned Pinkie Pie, I found myself wanting to go to Sugar Cube Corner. But that place was torn down and replaced with Sunday Sarsaparilla." She takes a bite of her donut. "I mean, this is nice, but people say that the cakes that used to be made here were like nothing the people ever tasted. Or ponies I guess. It's people now. Not that that's a bad thing." She looks around, at the range of creatures – yaks, cows, dragons, donkeys, and everything in-between. "Such a shame. It actually got torn down before I was born and-"

Spike yells and stuffs his quill and parchment into his satchel. He can't do this. He can't find inspiration anywhere, and this little twat isn't making it easy. He grabs the milkshake as well (everything's in take-away cups these days) and heads for the door.

"Wait!" the pony exclaims, as she runs after him. "You haven't let me finished apologizing yet."

"I said the apology was accepted," Spike says.

She sprints round and blocks the door. "Please, please, _please_, you've got to let me make it up to you. I know I've been bothering you, but I can't stop thinking I've seen you before, and I've already taken up so much of your time today, I couldn't stop thinking about the-"

Spike dumps the milkshake on top of the pony's head. "Like I said kid. Apology accepted."

He walks past her, ignoring the whoops and jeers of the patrons. Not seeing the little pony slump down on the floor behind him, fighting the urge to cry.

* * *

_I really should have come here first._

It was decades ago in Ponyville that Rainbow Dash planted the idea for this project in his mind, even if she didn't realize it at the time. Heck, _he _didn't realize it at the time – no-one did. But in that knowledge, if he couldn't get inspiration at a library, or at an orange orchard, a clubhouse, or through a milkshake, then he can't go wrong at Rainbow Dash's Reading Rainbooms (all rights reserved).

He lands outside the place and looks up. No-one could have imagined that Rainbow Dash would have converted her house into a bookstore. Everyone, even after Applejack and Pinkie Pie had left this world, thought she'd stay in the Wonderbolts. That she'd continue to break record after record, that she'd retain her position of wing commander, and even if she was getting old, at least take a desk job once her body could no longer keep up with her will. Only, that didn't give out. Her eyes did. All that flying at supersonic speeds without goggles before joining the Bolts (and at times, after them) had weakened her eye muscle, leading to a decline in her vision. The same training that had allowed her to keep in physical shape had made it too difficult for her to see where she was going at those same speeds. Maybe the desk job had come earlier than anyone had thought.

Only she hadn't taken it. After less complaining than anyone had expected, she'd got her glasses, turned in her wings, and turned her home into a bookstore – if she couldn't inspire a love of sports, she could certainly help share her love of reading. So, even after she died, lying by the fire with the latest _Larry Trotter _book in her lap, the shop was passed on to Scootaloo, and after her death, in turn, to…well, Spike isn't sure. Reading Rainbooms (all rights reserved) is owned by a subsidiary of a subsidiary of an incorporated corporation. Whatever the case, he walks in.

_Okay. Inspire me._

Bookshelves. Bookshelves everywhere. Lots of pegasai as well, along with griffons, hippogriffs, and even changelings. Or maybe they're all changelings and only some are showing their true colours. Spike doesn't know. If Thorax was still alive, he could have spotted them easily, but then again, Thorax isn't here. Rainbow Dash isn't here. Scootaloo isn't here, Pinkie isn't here, Applejack isn't here, and to his dismay, there are no _Daring Do _books here either.

_Weren't they always meant to be kept in stock?_

Maybe times are just changing – after all, he's a dragon, dragons live a long time, and over the decades, he's seen plenty of change. Either way, he takes a seat in one of the bookstore's corners, gets out his parchment and ink, and takes in a breath, taking in the scent of musty books. And comics. Rainbow stocked some comics from the outset, and the new owners have expanded the section, the kids loving them. But be that as it may, Spike leans over his parchment. Ready to write as effectively as Rainbow had been able to read…

…and is still there, fifteen minutes later, barely a word scratched on the parchment.

_What's wrong with me?_

He has to do this. He'd promised himself that he'd do this. The world is changing before his eyes, and he needs to save even a portion of the old one before he too meets his end – not even dragons live forever. But to do that…he sighs, and heads over to the non-fiction section. Past Mareiam Webster's dictionaries, past copies of _Thesauruses for Horses (and Everybody Else!)_, to a selection of how-to-write books. They seem to be geared for fiction rather than non-fiction, but whatever, they might make do. So he takes the books, gets out his bits, and heads for the counter – a bored looking griffon who reminds him of Gilda in her bad years is lounging over it, fiddling with one of those hoofers that every kid has now. Spike gives the griffon the bits and the books. The griffon gives him a grunt in return.

"Say," Spike says, as the griffon processes his payment. "Don't suppose you have any _Daring Do_ books?"

The griffon gives him a strange look. "_Daring Do_?"

"Um, yeah. _Daring Do_. Used to be a hit. Bit before your time, but-"

"Yeah pal, I know what _Daring Do _is. Just didn't think anyone read it anymore."

"Oh. Okay." Spike decides not to lecture the griffon on Rainbow's original intent for the bookstore, since he's not a member of senior staff. "So what are kids into nowadays?"

"Meh. _Mysterious Mare Do Well _mostly."

Spike scowls. "That crap? You know it isn't even true to the-"

The griffon isn't listening. He's back at his hoofer. And glancing around, Spike sees two things. One, a group of fillies who are sobbing that he called Mare Do Well crap. The second, outside, much older pegasai tossing a satchel of a smaller, pink pegasus who-

_Oh come on!_

She's here. Why, out of all the bookstores in all the world, did she have to come into this one? Granted, she isn't in the bookstore, but still…

"Um…" Spike looks at the griffon. The creature looks up and gestures to the commotion outside. "Aren't you gonna do something?"

The griffon shrugs. "She's paid for her books and she's outside the store. Ain't my problem."

"Wow. You like, so encapsulate the magic of friendship and…" Spike sighs, as the griffon returns to his hoofer. "Yeah. Sure. Fine. Whatever." He heads out of the bookstore, trying to ignore the whispers about the Mare-vel Cinematic Universe (more nonsense that he still doesn't understand), also trying to ignore the pegasai bullying the annoying girl he's run into twice today.

"Guys, come on! Give it back!"

Trying, and not really succeeding. Because he can hear the quiver in her voice, and can see the tears in her eyes.

"You want it? Come get it!"

The two pegasai are throwing a satchel back and forth, and she's not nearly fast enough to get it back.

"Come on. Take it."

"Ain't that hard."

_Just keep moving Spike. Not your problem._

"Guys, please…."

_Just. Keep. Moving._

"Firefly, Firefly, Firefly can hardly fly!"

"Firefly, in the sky, Firefly will start to cry!"

Forget "start" – she already is, Spike reflects.

"Firefly, see her cry, Firefly lives in a pig sty!"

Taking a breath, Spike puts his own satchel on the ground and calls out to them. "Alright guys, cut it out. Give them back."

Three pairs of eyes turn to the dragon. Two of them are looks of contempt. The other is a look of trepidation. Considering that the last time he saw her she had freshly dumped milkshake in her mane, he supposes he can't blame her.

"What do you want, dragon?" one of the pegasai spits.

"To know the meaning of life. But second up is for you to give the girl her satchel back."

"Yeah?" sneers one of the pegasai. "What you going to do about it, purple scales? Bet you don't even-"

"**Give it back to her right now!"**

The voice, as he calls it, always works. He's a dragon. He can speak "dragonish," which is his term for talking very loud while also breathing fire out of his mouth. It works on the ground, and it works up here in Cloudsdale. Well, almost works. One of the pegasai drops the girl's satchel as he and his buddy soar off. Not exactly giving it back, but Spike will take what victories he can.

"There," he says. He smiles at the girl. "You okay?"

She nods and turns around. She gently descends through the air towards her satchel and begins to put the books that have spilled out of the bag back into it.

"Here, let me help you."

"I'm fine," she snaps, swatting at his hand with her hoof.

Spike keeps his distance, but he doesn't keep his eyes to himself. Out of the satchel are a collection of self-help books, a small book titled _Rescue at Midnight Castle_, and to his dismay, a pair of Mare Do Well graphic novels. He may have saved the girl, but that doesn't mean he's saved her taste in literature.

"So…" Spike says, as she continues to fish them out. "Nice weather we're having."

She nods.

"Nice sun."

She nods.

"Not a cloud in the sky…"

She nods.

Spike sighs, tapping the cloud that they're standing on (the city's infrastructure has been upgraded so that non-pegasai can walk on it). "Yeah, okay, I know you're not listening."

She scrambles to her feet and backs away from the dragon that's a full head taller than her. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'll stay away from now on."

"Kid, you…"

"You won't have to see me again."

Spike sighs. "Firefly, right?"

She nods, looking terrified.

"Listen, the whole milkshake thing? Yeah. That was wrong. Just had a bad day, and…okay, I'm not going to make excuses, I was a jerk. So, not asking for forgiveness or anything, but just want you to know that's not normally me and-"

"I know," she says. "You're Spike, right?"

Spike's scales turn a lighter shade of purple. "Excuse me?"

"You're Spike," she repeats. "Purple dragon, green fire…I was pretty sure it was you, but after the milkshake thing…well, actually, I was still sure it was you, because I know the stories about you and your friends have always been slightly exaggerated…"

"Oh," Spike says. "Heh, well, books and all that."

She nods.

"You like reading?"

She nods.

"And hanging around on the ground?"

"Hang around everywhere these days."

Spike isn't sure he understands, but he is sure that this pony needs a break. She's still refusing to meet his eye, but is likewise refusing to look at anything else but the ground. But then, it's not his issue. If she doesn't want help, he shouldn't press it.

"Well," Spike says. "I need to get off, and-"

"Wait." She looks up at him. "I, er…I need…" She takes a breath. "I kind of need…friends."

"Friends," says Spike blankly.

She nods. "Been at the School of Friendship for years, but I'm not what you'd call a model student. Like, people are weird, and I try to get to know them, but I weird them out, and they weird me out, so I've been reading books, but the more I read, the more isolated I get, and-"

Spike pats her on the shoulder. "Come on. I know a good place for people like you."

Her eyes widen in horror.

"In a good way."

* * *

It's past midday, and Spike's at Sweet Feather Sanctuary. The place Fluttershy worked at until her death.

He sits on the edge of the stream that runs through the sanctuary. He hasn't come here in ages, but he took a gamble that Firefly might like it. And given the way that she's running around with the bunnies, birds, badgers, and other creatures beginning with b (and every other letter of the alphabet), he figures he made the right choice. Which suits him just fine, because if the girl's happy, then he can concentrate on his writing. Or, try to – even here, surrounded by nature, he finds himself unable to put quill to page, or at least write anything beyond a few sentences. He scrunches up yet another parchment and stuffs it in his satchel. Right now, he's got more crumpled parchment than clean ones.

_Come on Spike, think. _He taps his head with the quill, not caring about getting ink on it again. _Think!_

He can't think. He can't write. Groaning, he lies down in the grass. Even if he's failing in his project, he can enjoy the peace and quiet…at least until he thinks of the ponies who used to work in this place.

_Oh Fluttershy. You don't know how good you have it._

Sweet Apple Acres is gone. Sugar Cube Corner is gone. Reading Rainbooms (all rights reserved) is functioning, but it's moved away from the principles Rainbow laid out for it (they don't even do storytime for fillies anymore). But the animal sanctuary? That's remained exactly the same as Fluttershy left it. The ponies have changed over time, but they still do the same work she did, and nearly just as well…From what Spike remembers, Fluttershy was as happy in the last years of her life as she was when he first met her. Actually, even happier, considering she was no longer scared of her own shadow. She'd achieved her dream, and never lost her grasp on it. So when death came for her in the end, he, Twilight, and Rarity, watched as her ashes were committed to the river that runs through this place. They'd last seen her just days ago, when she was clearly on her last legs, but refused to stop helping the animals. And that day was the last they saw Discord as well. He stood throughout the ceremony without uttering a word, then bid his friends adieu, and disappeared in a flash of light. Decades after that, and Spike's never seen him again. No-one has.

"Spike."

Pinkie and Applejack are buried in the ground. Rainbow and Fluttershy had their ashes scattered as befits pegasai, even if Rainbow's was done through the air, while Fluttershy's were committed to water. He knows that even though dragons live a long time, one day he'll die.

"Spike."

If he follows dragon tradition, he'll be incinerated on a pyre. Like Ember was, after she was mortally wounded in a battle against wyverns. Dragons still die, and their deaths aren't always natural.

"Spike!"

He springs up and finds Firefly standing in front of him.

"Oh, sorry," she says. "Was I interrupting?"

He shakes his head and begins putting his parchment and quill away. "I'm fine," he murmurs.

"Oh, I bet." She giggles. "This place is amazing. Like, I'm not good with people, but the animals don't care how much I talk, and they're happy to let me chase them, and let me read to them, and tell them stories about you, and the Mane Six, and-"

Spike winces.

"Oh," Firefly says. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Spike murmurs.

"You must really miss them."

"No," he says. He quickly adds, "I mean, of course I miss them, but…"

"But?"

"Mane Six." He gags. "Seriously, the correct term is Mane Seven. It's been years since…point is, people should use that term."

"Mane Seven?" Firefly asks. Her eyes light up. "Oh. Right. Mane Seven!" She giggles. "I mean, makes sense. Six ponies, plus you."

"Not me," Spike says. "Starlight."

Firefly stares at him.

"Starlight," he repeats. "Starlight Glimmer."

Firefly stares at him.

"You go to the School of Friendship for crying out loud!"

"Oh. _Starlight_," she says. "Huh." She sits down, opens her satchel, and takes out a book titled _The Mane Six: Magic, Mysteries, and Mayhem_. "Y'know, not many books talk about her. I mean, they do mention the time Princess Twilight and the others helped liberate that village of hers. I mean, it's why she's no longer recognised as a former principal."

"What?"

"Oh yeah. They didn't want her name on the honour roll. I mean, I think that's a bit harsh, but the board of directors decided that some ponies were better off forgotten. They didn't want her name tainting the school, and besides, even if she was the longest serving one, she wasn't the first. That was Twilight Sparkle."

Spike finds himself gripping the grass, his claws tearing through it and the soil below.

"Anyway," Firefly says. "I want to thank you. Really. I always knew this place existed, and that one of the Mane Six used to work here, but to actually be here, and…I'm sorry. I'm talking too much again, aren't I?"

Spike shrugs. "Talked non-stop on the way here, why stop now?"

"Well, I like reading, and cupcakes, and apples, and writing, and hey, about writing. What are you writing Spike?"

Spike glares at her. "Doesn't matter."

"Oh. Okay." She lowers her face. "I get it. I won't pry. I mean, you're quoted in so many history books, I…" She trails off, as a beeping sound comes from her satchel. "Oh. Sorry. Got to take this."

Spike looks on, bemused, as Firefly takes out her hoofer. A small magical device that all the kids are using these days that allows instant communication. Heck, they don't even talk through them half the time, they just use an interface to send text. For Celestia's sake, why not use just talk? No wonder Firefly is hopeless at face-to-face conversation.

"And…there," Firefly says. She hits a button and puts her hoofer on the grass. "Just letting my folks know where I am."

"Mum and dad worried?"

"Well, foster mum and foster dad."

"Oh." Spike's face falls. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be." Firefly takes out a book from her satchel – the one named _Rescue at Midnight Castle_. He watches her run a hoof down its cover. "They used to read this to me before…well, before they went away."

Spike, not sure what to say (if anything – should he talk about how he never found his biological parents?), murmurs, "I bet that was nice."

"Yeah." Firefly brushes something out of her eye and smiles. "It was."

He doesn't tell her that he imagines it was nice because when he was even younger than she was, Twilight would read to him. Granted, a lot of that was dictating book reports, but still, reading was reading. Kind of like he'd read to her before…

"Y'know, I have so many questions," Firefly says. "And I know you're probably sick of them, given how many times you've added your words to biographies and histories and all that, but…"

"Hurry it up kid."

"But what were they like?" Firefly asks. "I mean, I've always looked up to them. Like, everyone does, but reading fact, fiction, sometimes it's hard to know what's in-between, and-"

"Mare Do Well is a silly hero because it's based on a friendship lesson that got out of hand," Spike says. "You can take that thing away from me."

"Oh." Firefly gingerly zips up her satchel, before looking back at him. "Say, is it true that Celestia sent letters to Princess Twilight through your mouth?"

"Yep." Spike can't help but smile, even if the mention of Twilight causes a tightness in his chest. He gets to his feet. "I'd get the hiccups, then I'd burp, and…oh…hold on a second…"

He clutches his stomach, hiccups, burps, and a scroll appears out of his mouth in a burst of flame.

"Wow," exclaims Firefly. "That was a great demonstration. Can you do it again?"

"Huh? No, that wasn't me, it was…" He bends down, picks up the scrolls and unwraps it.

"Well?" Firefly asks. "What's it say? Hey, is it from Celestia? I know no-one's seen her or Luna in ages, but…"

"Be quiet, and maybe I'll tell you." Spike begins reading. "Dear Spike, in light of the…no…no…no, you're not serious…you are serious…Celestia damn it!" He lets out a word that sends a flock of birds flying up into the sky and a pair of raccoons to faint.

_They're doing it. They're actually doing it. _He looks at Firefly. "Gotta go."

"Um, Spike?" Firefly whispers. "What does that word mean? Like, I think I heard my foster dad yell it at my foster mum, but-"

"Not now Firefly!" He puts his satchel on and gets to his feet. "Listen, just…stay in school, work hard, some something something, and…what are you doing?"

She hands Spike a piece of paper.

"The heck is this?"

"It's my hoofer number," Firefly says. She gingerly runs a hoof through her mane. "Like, if you wanted to…like…talk…again…maybe…"

"Kid, I don't even have a hoofer!"

Firefly stares at him, as if he'd just said the world was flat, or that the sun moved by itself.

Still, he doesn't care. He takes to wing and shoots off through the sky, headed for Canterlot.

* * *

"Spike, are you listening?"

Dragons live a long time. Right now, he's torn between wanting to die, and murdering the pony in front of him.

"Spike?"

Murder, he reflects. He can go for murder.

"Spike."

Course he'd likely be executed afterwards, but then he'd-

"**Spike!"**

He blinks and leans back in the chair in Lauren's office. "I'm listening," he murmurs.

The pegasus in front of him sighs – white fur, red mane, and eyes that are, right now, reminding him of Firefly's.

"Right," she says. She hands over a piece of parchment across the desk. "As co-trustee of the Heart Foundation, I need your signature."

Spike scowls. "What if I don't sign it?"

Lauren sighs. "You really going to do this Spike?"

"I'm not the one who's signing Rarity's legacy away."

"No. You're not. And do you know why? Because over the last few months you've hardly been here. You've been working on your…what was it? Plan?"

"Project," Spike murmurs.

"Yes. Your project. How's that going?"

He doesn't answer, but looking at Lauren's face, he knows that she knows that he knows it's going badly. However, the frown on her face fades, and when she speaks, her tone is much softer.

"Spike, no-one can fault your efforts up to this point. But the Heart Foundation just doesn't have the money to keep operating. I've tried finding more donors, we've done charity drives from Cloudsdale to Appleloosa, and it just isn't enough, even with all the layoffs. All we can do now is close shop and donate our remaining funds to the people who need them."

"And to do that, you need me," Spike murmurs.

"I do," Lauren says. "And if you don't, and bring this to court and lose, we'll be left without anything."

Spike sighs and looks out the western-facing window of Lauren's office – about the only office in the Heart Foundation that has an occupant. The sun's setting, and long shadows are cast over both him and the pegasus before him.

"We had a good run Spike," she says. "Nine years."

Spike reflects for a moment how old he is, and how many years he's got left in this world. Dragons live a long time, and for him, nine years hardly feels like a "good run."

"If you need time," Lauren says. She slides the parchment over her desk and gets up. "Just sign it Spike. Please. Rarity would have wanted that."

_You don't know anything about her. _

He doesn't meet Lauren's gaze as she walks out – no doubt she's going to have some coffee with Meghan before coming back to see if he's finished dishonouring Rarity's legacy. His eyes shift to the fire ruby that hangs on the wall in the main office space of the foundation:

**A BEAUTIFUL HEART**

**IS A STRONG HEART**

Rarity's heart was both, he reflects. Just like she was. She, Twilight, and himself were the last of the old guard left after Fluttershy, and then Starlight finally carked it. On average, unicorns live longer than their counterparts, but even then, he could see age taking its toll on Twilight, and especially Rarity. He could see how she threw herself into her work, constantly trying to one-up herself. Her parents were long dead. Her best friends were almost all dead. Her sister was dead, and that, Spike knew, affected her more than anything. He'd help, he'd model, he'd do whatever she asked of him, but over time, she asked less and less of him, and talked less as well. In her last days, all that mattered to Rarity was her work, as if she was determined to show the world that age was no barrier to creativity.

Maybe age wasn't, but heart attacks certainly were. Even now, he remembers when he came to visit her, how she was suffering a heart attack. He got her to Canterlot Hospital, and learnt the news. It was heart disease – the same disease that had taken her sister years ago, robbing the world of Sweetie Belle's voice forever. The disease was passed down through blood, and even if Rarity's heart had lasted longer, it couldn't last forever. In the end, it lasted only a few more hours – enough time for Spike and Twilight to say their final goodbyes. For him to be called "Spikey Wikey" one last time, and give her one last jewel – the same one that hangs in the office now.

He misses her. Just sitting here is a form of torture. Of all his friends, Rarity's was the only death he was actually present for, and nineteen years after that death, he still doesn't know if that makes him lucky or not. But regardless, he couldn't save Rarity. He couldn't save Carousel Boutique, which folded after it lost the pony who built it from the ground up. And nine years ago, a year after losing Twilight, he set up the Heart Foundation with Lauren's help. A not for profit group to help all creatures with heart disease and similar ailments. Nine years of trying to make it up to her. Trying to give himself a purpose. Nine years…and all he has to show for it is this piece of parchment.

"Spike."

He turns around and looks at Lauren. She's walked back in, balancing two cups of coffee on her wings.

"Spike, please. Just sign it." She hands the coffee down to him, and he can't help but smile sadly. "Two sugars?"

Lauren nods. "Of course. You've always had a sweet tooth."

The smile fades, even as he drinks it. He takes up a quill, and looks at the parchment. He looks at it, and whispers, "I'm sorry," before making a Faustian deal with Lauren – he signs away his soul, and he gains the knowledge of what he truly is. A failure.

"And done," Lauren says. She sits at the desk and takes the scroll back, before looking up at Spike. "You're welcome to stay until closing Spike, if you want. I…_we_, owe you that much."

He grunts. "Nine years."

"Spike?"

"Nine years," he repeats. "Nine years, and what do I have to show for it?"

"Quite a few people who are still alive because of us."

He grunts. "Just say it Lauren. I'm a failure."

"Spike?"

"I'm a failure," he whispers. "I can't write. I couldn't save Rarity. I'm here, they're not, and if I had any decency in me, I'd have been able to…to do something!" He slams his satchel on the desk and his parchments come pouring out. "Look at this! What…what do I have to show for it? For anything? If I…if I could have just…"

"Spike." Lauren walks over and puts a hoof on his shoulder. "Spike, look at me."

He manages to do so, not hiding the tears in her eyes.

"Spike, you're not a bad person," she whispers. "But you'll never see that unless you stop punishing yourself."

He takes a sip of the coffee – even with all the sugar in it, it tastes bitter. Maybe she didn't put enough in. Or maybe, after coming to this place, after seeing the places where he once hung out with his friends…maybe that's it. He's swallowed reality, and it's marked his tongue.

"Take your time Spike," Lauren says, and she walks out of the office.

Spike lies back in his chair and sighs. There's one place he hasn't been to tonight. But to go there, now, after all this?

He takes another sip of the coffee. It does him no good.

Right now, he wants to get drunk.

* * *

Getting drunk barely worked. Dragons live a long time, and their constitutions are top notch. All the poison he flushed down his body has already been filtered out of it. So he walks with a bottle of yak ale down the streets of Canterlot, well knowing that if he slurped all of it down right now, it would still be out of his system in hours.

Part of him wants to do that. The other part holds that desire at bay. Because before he resigns himself to being the failure that he is, there's one last place he wants, no, _needs _to go. He wants to see her again before he closes his eyes in the knowledge that if he never opens them again, the world will have lost nothing.

He makes his way towards what used to be Canterlot Castle. Physically, it's the same structure, and in terms of function, it's remained the same as well (governing Equestria). But nowadays, it's called Equestrian House, as the country's seat of government. No kings, queens, or princesses nowadays, oh no. It's got an elected council of representatives – Twilight's last legacy to the world. A legacy that's existed for ten years, and has so far kept Equestria as stable after her death than the princess of friendship did in her life.

But there is a new addition, and it's the one that Spike's headed for. Before the flights of stairs that lead to the castle's entrance is a sculpture commemorating the rulers of Equestria. And it's this statue that he comes to before taking a sip of the yak ale.

"Guys don't mind, do you?"

The statues say nothing.

"Didn't think so."

Spike takes another sip and looks up at the statue – technically three, but all part of the same piece of art. Before him are three alicorns, their shadows cast over him in the moon's light. The statue of Princess Celestia, whose form is facing the east, to ever see the sun that she used to rise. The statue of Princess Luna, whose form is facing the west, to see the beginnings of night. And between them, looking south (and by extension, towards anyone approaching the gates), is that of Princess Twilight Sparkle. The Princess of Friendship, the Queen of Equestria, and the land's last monarch – ever watching for those who follow in her hoof steps. Whether they be earth ponies, pegasai, unicorns, or in Spike's case, dragons.

"Hey, Twilight," he murmurs. "Haven't been here for awhile."

She says nothing.

"You're looking nice."

The statue remains quiet. Because of course it does. Spike can't fault the artist, but while they did an excellent job with Luna and Celestia, he's never been happy with Twilight's depiction – it's the face that does it. It's a look of determination and strength, the eyes looking out with a gaze of steel. And Twilight was strong, he doesn't dispute that, but when he thinks of her, he doesn't see "strength." He sees kindness. Twilight had strength from within, even when she was twilighting the hardest. The statue here presents strength out to the world.

Spike sips more ale and glances at the plaque beneath Twilight's statue. He scowls, and slurps even more of the poison, before flopping on the ground. Standing in her shadow, like he always did.

"Been a long day," he whispers. "Not nearly as long as you've been gone, but…yeah. Long."

The statue just stands there.

"I know you felt guilty in the end," Spike continues. "Told you not to feel that way, but…well, guess the egg's on my face now, right?" He slurps more of the ale, already halfway through, and already feeling halfway drunk. He lounges down on the cold stone, wondering why he's here. Why he's here, when all of his friends left this world.

_Do you still feel guilty? If you're out there, somewhere?_

He remembers Twilight's words, on that day, around sixty years ago. That point in his friend's lives when they were starting to realize that they were getting old. She assured them that despite being an alicorn in the same way as Celestia and Luna were, she wasn't immortal. The sisters had been blessed by the sun and moon, while the magic of friendship had blessed her. Blessed her with things that didn't include immortality. She wasn't going to end up living a thousand years while her friends were left behind in the dust.

Only, that was what happened. Applejack. Pinkie Pie. Rainbow Dash. Fluttershy. Starlight Glimmer. And then, finally, Rarity. They died, and Twilight lived another decade. Her body failing her, if not her mind, and as Spike realized, not her heart, even as her guilt weighed her down along with time. Over those ten years, things had gone back to the way they had before Celestia first sent them to Ponyville. Reading. Studying. Only whereas Twilight had taken care of him as a hatchling, now he was taking care of her. Her friends were gone. The Two Sisters were gone. Her brother, niece, and sister-in-law were gone. She was the last of her family now, and the last member of a world that no longer existed, while the new world was asking who would next take the throne?

She'd found the answer one day, and she'd come to Spike to tell him. Her answer was that no-one would. Equestria had changed. Its system of government would have to change with it. She'd write laws, she'd write a constitution, she'd design a system of representation so that everyone could call this land home, be they pony or otherwise. She'd do that, and if her number one assistant was feeling up to it, he'd help her. Having helped her for years by this point, he'd been only too eager to help. Less eager, however, as the nights grew long, and her mane became grey. Her wings feeble, and her breath shallow. He'd tell her to stop. Tell her to take it easy. Tell her to stop twilighting, because if she didn't, she was going to kill herself. She'd laugh, and whisper, "alicorns live a long time Spike. I'm not going anywhere."

Spike sips more of the ale and remembers that day. Her opening of parliament. Her taking the crown off her head for the very last time, and the feeble wave she gave the cheering crowd. He remembers helping her to her chamber and helping her get into bed, obeying her wish to close the curtains. He remembers her saying "thank you Spike…for everything," before turning over in her bed and going to sleep.

She never woke up again.

_And you two, _Spike thinks, looking at Celestia's statue, then Luna's. _You weren't there for any of it._

The two of them had disappeared in the years between Rarity's death and Twilight's. Some send that they had become one with the world itself – Celestia with the sun and rainbow, Luna with the stars and moon. That the magic which had sustained them all this time had finally given out. Even so, as Twilight's body was entombed in the crypts below the castle, after being given a full procession through Canterlot, he'd dared to hope that they might return. Just this once. That he might see them again. See anyone who could link him back to simpler times, and happier days. That he could see any of them again. Just one last time.

No-one appeared. No-one came back. Ten years since the death of Queen Twilight Sparkle, nine years since starting the Heart Foundation, three months of working on his project, and uncounted years of authors asking him for quotes they can use in their works. All that, and, he reflects, as he finishes off the last of the ale, he's got nothing to show for it. He's alive. They're not. And it's proof that there's no justice in the world.

"Well, this has been nice," Spike murmurs. He drinks the last of the yak ale and stumbles. "But I need to get going. Got lots of stuff to do, and all that."

The statue remains silent. The ale's starting to take effect and he has trouble looking her in the eye.

"You know, I still wake up expecting to see you. Or Rarity. Or any of the others. That I'm going to just turn a corner and see you again."

The statue just stands there. And remains standing, even as Spike lets out a yell and throws the glass against its head. Not out of hatred, but out of despair. The same despair that gets him to stumble down in front of the monument to his friend.

"I miss you," he whispers, as the tears fall on the ground and shattered glass. "All of you."

He dares hope that something magical will occur. That the statue will come to life, or a friend will come bounding out of the dark, or a face will appear in the moon. But nothing happens. Darkness grips the air, and while his tears cut through it, it quickly reforms. For a moment, Spike is able to compose himself to see the plaque on the statue. To see the old lie.

**LET THE RAINBOW REMIND YOU**

**THAT TOGETHER WE WILL ALWAYS SHINE**

No rainbow this night, he reflects. No twilight to bridge night and day, the three rulers of Equestria all long departed from this world. All that's left is him. A dragon, fated to walk the long road before reaching the final stop named oblivion. A road that will be long, and a road he will walk alone, for he is a dragon. And dragons live a long time. But, he thinks to himself, as he picks up his satchel and begins to walk, all the time in the world cannot compensate for a lack of skill. The time left to him is not enough to compensate for his failures.

So he stumbles through the night before reaching his home. A home bequeathed to him by Twilight in her final will and testament. He manages to get the door open after several tries, drops his satchel by said door, and stumbles to his bed. His head is pounding as rapidly as his heart, and the latter has long been broken. Without second thought, he flops upon the bed, and enters restless sleep.

In his dreams, he sees them. Twilight. Rarity. Starlight. Fluttershy. Rainbow Dash. Fluttershy. Pinkie Pie. Applejack. Apple Bloom. Scootaloo. Sweetie Belle. Celestia. Luna. Discord. Cadence. Shining Armour. Flurry Heart. Ember. Thorax. Zecora. He sees them, and so many more. More than he can name or count, all taken by death. All of them departed, leaving him alone in this world.

In his dreams, he sees them.

In his dreams, he sees _her_.

And when he wakes up, he knows what he has to do.

* * *

It's Sunday, and Spike's back in the Canterlot Library.

His head is pounding. He's got a flask of water on the desk, along with his parchment, quill, and ink. Saturday was fairly packed, but Sunday, it's as empty and barren as the Frozen North. Only it's summer, but regardless, he's in the autumn of his discontent, if not the winter. He looks at the clock on the wall and wonders if she'll come. She said she would, but she didn't sound too sure, and it's not as if they parted on the best of terms yesterday. Granted, she did give him her hoofer number, but-

"Spike! Hey, Spike!"

_Yep, _he thinks to himself, as he rubs his head. _She's here._

Firefly comes bounding up to the desk Spike's sitting at, earning no shortage of rebukes from the librarians on duty. She barely pays attention though, as she plops herself on the desk opposite, putting her own satchel opposite his.

"Heyya buddy."

"Hey," Spike whispers, wondering why she's talking so loud.

"You alright Spike? Your eyes are really red."

In spite of everything, Spike smiles. "You ever drink yak ale, Firefly?"

"Um, no?"

"Good. And you never should."

She giggles, the sound of it cutting through Spike's head like a knife. He's starting to wonder if this was a mistake – like, inviting her. Obviously last night was a mistake in more ways than one.

"So…" Firefly says, as she taps her hoof on the table. "So…"

"La," Spike murmurs.

"La?"

"La. Ti. Do. Ray. Mi. Fa-"

"Um, yes Spike, I did have a role in the school performance of _The Essence of Song _last year. I mean, the Mane Six broke into song all the time – it's part of the curriculum."

Spike shakes his head and takes a sip of water. "I'm surprised you came," he murmurs.

She giggles. "I'm surprised you called. You said you don't have a hoofer."

"I don't. I used the library pay hoofer."

"A pay hoofer?" She follows Spike's hand to the one mounted on the wall. "Blimey. Those things still exist?"

"They came out five years ago."

"Magic moves fast Spike. You've got to stay with it."

In spite of everything, Spike laughs. He doesn't say it, but Firefly's sounding (and looking) a lot better. The way she smiles. The way she talks. It's like after yesterday, in spite of how horrible he was, did have something good for her.

"Listen, Firefly," he says. "I want to say…"

"Yes, Spike?"

"That I'm sorry. And grateful. Sorry, for what I did. Grateful that you came on a Sunday."

She shrugs. "Usually spend time alone on Sundays anyway. Like, a lot of the other kids play, but I'm not really that good with the kids, and they don't want me playing with them, which is fine, because I'm not that good, even though I'd like to be good, and-"

Maybe she's got some more work to do he reflects. Nevertheless, he murmurs, "you said yesterday that you need friends. And yesterday made me realize…" Spike takes a breath, and Firefly leans in, hanging on his every word.

"Yesterday made me realize that I don't have to be alone."

Firefly blinks. "It took yesterday to make you realize that?"

"That," he says. "And this." He points to the empty parchment and Firefly stares. She looks at Spike and asks, "so…invisible ink gave you a revelation? Cause that would be awesome!"

"It's not invisible ink, Firefly. It's something I've tried to do for months." He takes another sip of water. Firefly leans back in her seat and waits patiently for him to speak.

"For years, people have come to me for quotes, insights, and all that," Spike murmurs. "Twilight, her friends, Celestia and Luna, all of them. The more friends I lost, the more writers came to me. And I answered all their questions. I read all their books. And…"

"And?"

"And it never felt true," Spike whispers. "It was their words, not mine. And no matter how many books I read, it never felt like they really captured their voice. Not for Twilight, not for…well, not for any of them. So I tried to write their story myself – the last person alive who knew them. Like, _really _knew them. I wanted to tell their story, and tell it right. Warts and all."

Firefly looks at him, something in her eyes.

"It's crazy, I know, but that's what I was doing yesterday. What I've been doing for months."

"I don't think that's crazy," Firefly whispers.

"It is though. Because here's the thing – I can't write." He taps the tip of his quill on the parchment. "I try, and try, and try, and it never seems real. I just can't get it to work." He sighs. "You know it was Rainbow Dash who gave me the idea? When the whole Mare Do Well thing happened, she asked me to be her biographer. Had me write down everything she said. And as crazy as it was, it gave me the idea for this project in the first place."

"Mare Do Well?" Firefly asks. "You…oh. That's why you don't like the comics."

"I was there, Firefly. At the beginning. Only unlike those authors, I can't write. Only…"

"Only you need a ghost writer?" Firefly asks.

Spike lowers his gaze. "I am a ghost writer," he whispers. "I'm writing for ghosts. I'm trying to give the dead a voice." He meets her eyes. "It's why I didn't go to another author because I could never trust them to do it right. To give my friends justice."

Firefly nods and leans back in her chair.

"Or at least, I didn't think I could until today."

Firefly sits there. Then stares. Then looks around. Then blinks. Then blinks some more, before finally getting it.

"Me? You're talking about me?!"

Spike smiles. "You said you like writing."

"But…but I'm not a writer! I…Spike, all I've written are essays, and short stories, and poems, and a few multi-chapters, and-"

"Sounds like you're a writer."

"Spike, I can't. I mean…"

"Why?" Spike whispers.

"What?" Firefly asks, trembling.

"Why?" he asks. "Why can't you write?"

"I…because I've never…" She clears her throat. "Why me? Why trust me?"

"Because if nothing else, you're honest. Like, excruciatingly honest. Only you're loyal. And good with animals. And you laugh, and that you're generous. You're like…" He trails off, not sure what to say. Not sure how to express how when he sees her…he sees _them_.

"Spike…" Firefly says.

"It doesn't have to be good. It doesn't have to be finished quickly. But if we do this, just a few hours a week, every Sunday…as friends…maybe…" Spike holds out a claw. "I tell you the story. You write it. And maybe…maybe something good will come of that."

"And if it doesn't?" Firefly whispers.

"I don't know. But I have to believe it will. And you know why?"

She shakes her head.

"Because I'm alive," Spike says. "I'm alive, but I'm not the last of the old world. I'm living in the world my friends helped create. And you…you're not the last of an old generation. You're the first of a new. And after yesterday, I realized…I could wallow in the past. Or look to the future."

Firefly smiles. "You sure you're not a writer?"

"Trust me kid, I'm sure." Spike slides the parchment, quill, and ink over to her. "Now then. Want to begin?"

"Um…okay," Firefly says, smiling. She takes the quill in her hoof. "So…how do we start?"

Spike doesn't answer her. He shifts on his seat and looks out the window. His head is clearing. His heart is healing. And on his lips, there's the hint of a smile as he sees what lies beyond. Beyond his reach, if not his eyes.

"Spike?" Firefly asks. "You okay?"

He smiles, and looks back at her, the sunlight reflecting off her eyes, shining. "Fine," he says, as the sunlight warms him in more ways than one. As a fire of a different kind fills him, as it once did so long ago.

"I was just looking at a rainbow."

* * *

_A/N_

_So if you read this far, congratulations. But I'm going to take a moment of indulgence as to explain how/why this came about._

_Original idea was actually from the original _Mare Do Well _episode, where Rainbow gets Spike to write her autobiography. Having rewatched season 2 (and, ugh, season 1) recently, actually got the idea of "hey, why doesn't Spike write the biographies of the Mane 6 after they're dead?" I mean, dragons seem to live longer than most creatures in the setting, so what happens if Spike outlives them all?_

_So, wrote it, only it ended up far longer than I expected, so I thought I'd make it a multi-chapter. However, there's the series finale which no, I won't spoil (yes, I've seen a subbed version), but suffice to say, it didn't sync up. Not talking about subversion, I'm talking about certain elements here really not syncing. Ergo, a oneshot rather than a multi-chapter, where I can afford to be more lax with canon. So I guess when everyone does see said finale and starts yelling at me about how this doesn't match it at all, just keep the reason in mind._

_Or, TL, DR, "how the series would end if it used a depressing rather than uplifting note."_


End file.
